He Woke Her Then
by Lornesgoldenhair
Summary: The first installment of the 'Burning Heart' series. Clarice, defeated and her life in tatters, lies unconscious in a hospital bed after a failed drugs raid when she is visited by an old friend. Can he wake her and will she take the chance of a new life?
1. Chapter 1

**Title: The Burning Heart Series : He Woke Her Then...**

**Author: lornesgoldenhair**

**Genre: Hannibal Fanfiction**

**Pairing: Hannibal/Clarice**

**Timescale: Set after Hannibal the movie (alternate ending – i.e. Hannibal escapes **_**with**_** his hand!)**

**Rating: NC-17/M for violence and possible sexual content.**

**Date of Creation: April 2008**

**Summary: Clarice lies close to death having lost everything she holds dear when she is visited by an old friend. Can he give her what she needs to live?**

**Distribution: DodgyObsession, , otherwise just ask.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hannibal or Clarice, they belong to the talented Mr Harris, I'm just borrowing them ;-) No infringement of rights intended.**

'Drop your weapons!' Special Agent Starlings voice rang out hoarsely across the warehouse. 'I said drop your weapons! Put the gun on the floor and raise your hands!'

Around her the SWAT team took aim at the small group of men who stood in darkness beneath the stairwell. Starling squinted into the gloom trying to make out their position. This was not how she had intended this to go off, cornered, face to face with the suspects, a direct confrontation between the two sides. Outside darkness was falling, the wind picking up. On her arms the fine hairs stood on end.

'This is your last warning,' she called, 'put the weapons on the floor and raise your hands where we can see them.'

Of course, they didn't.

The shots echoed in off the concrete walls to be followed instantaneously by a barrage of fire from behind her. But for Clarice it was already too late.

-- --

Hospitals. They smelt of cleaning fluid and the nurses' cheap perfume. As he passed through the ER his senses were all but assaulted by the stench of drunkenness and incontinence, the city's deadbeats gathering in the reception out of the cold, arguing with the orderlies who tried to move them on. He would have thought that given her dedication in the line of duty they could have found her somewhere more befitting her character.

_There are deep rollers and there are shallow rollers. You cannot breed two deep rollers or their young will fall too far and die. Agent Starling is a deep roller, let us hope for her sake that one of her parents was not..._

He had expected it. Her fall. Six months had passed since she had let him escape from the lake house and he had followed her life from a distance waiting for it to happen. Affiliated as she was in the minds of the press to his infamy he could be sure that any news regarding her career would be touted in the headlines. He had predicted a case backfiring, a dramatic dismissal from the FBI with an outside chance that she would take it upon herself to quit. He had to admit he had not anticipated this.

It rather complicated his plans.

But no matter, he was never one to avoid a challenge.

Dr Lecter slipped unnoticed from the entrance of the hospital and disappeared deep into the bowels of the building. He carried around him the confidence of one who belonged in the environment, a born doctor, pausing only to help himself to a white coat and stethoscope to immerse himself in his role, and then drifting unhindered through the halls.

Surely the FBI might have expected his visit; surely Clarice would have warned them? But alas poor Clarice was unconscious and if she hadn't been... well he doubted she would have tried to prevent him paying a call. In their last encounter she had made it quite clear that she had no will to stop him. A vague intention perhaps, a knee jerk reaction drilled into her by the academy to call for help, but no will.

His eyes travelled the stillness of the late night corridors and found nothing. He had always preferred the hospital at night, the mortuary in particular, alone with beauty and intricacies of the bodies he dissected, the absolute silence of death.

He glided past open wards and darkened bays, the occasional snore or mumble emanating from the patients and made his way to where she lay. He need not follow the signs, he could practically feel her there waiting.

Outside her room a single officer stood watch. 'Stood' was a mere turn of phrase, it seemed the man couldn't even bring himself to stand on duty; instead he had borrowed a chair from the nurses' station and settled himself with a flask and a newspaper. Lecter's eyes narrowed, that was just rude. As he grew closer the officer looked up at him wearily.

_I'm surprised he's awake._

'Good evening,' Lecter smiled, 'Just checking in on the patient before I finish for the night.'

The man grunted and returned to his paper.

_Unbelievable. Obviously highly trained._

He pushed open the door.

Her scent hit him immediately, delicate as it was it was unforgettable. Softly he shut the door behind him and let his eyes adjust to the light in the room. It was dim, lit only by a single sconce at the headboard of her bed and the monitors which surrounded her. A cursory glance at them told him that although deeply unconscious she was stable. He crossed to the nurse's desk and cast his eyes over her observations pinned across an angled desktop like a blueprint. More stable than she had been before, she had been lucky it seemed. He caught sight of the empty sandwich box to one side of the chart. Nurses. An unconscious patient and the immediately assume they can take their break in her room. With fingertips he lifted the waste and dropped it disdainfully into the bin before turning his attention to Clarice.

She was lying propped at a slight angle, her face in perfect repose. The covers were pulled to her arm pits and tucked tightly around her, their faultless position evidence that she did not move in her sleep. On her left shoulder a fading pink scar from the bullet he had removed that summer. Lecter stepped closer and scrutinized it, and satisfied with his handiwork, turned his consideration to her face.

She was thinner than before, no doubt because of her IV diet and piped synthetic foodstuffs. He eyed the foul looking bag suspended above her head and watched as it dripped its purulent yellow contents into the tube which entered her stomach. A stab of anger raced through him before he pushed it away and moved back to his examination.

There were dark circles beneath her eyes and her skin, always pale, was almost translucent, but she held around her the same beauty he had come to know so well. He allowed his gaze to linger a moment too long on her lashes and then gently folded back the covers.

He was purely professional as he surveyed her body. In his mind he estimating the path of the bullets which had torn through her, the structures they could have damaged, her chances of complete recovery. Of course he had accessed her casefiles already but he never did trust anyone else's judgement. Expertly he palpated her abdomen and slipped the stethoscope over her ribs. Her body at least was on the mend. Lecter replaced the covers and loosened them around her, freeing her restriction and as a final touch he smoothed her long hair over her shoulders and adjusted the light above her bed so that it did not shine directly on her face.

She was healing and she was out of danger, he had known that from the press cuttings and confirmed it with his own inspection. Barring any undiscovered brain injury, a highly unlikely prospect given her history, there was no reason why she would not wake up.

Lecter took his place in the chair by her bed, removing from it the debris of empty sterile packets and papers. Obviously she had no regular visitors. There were no flowers in the room, no cards. The rats had deserted the sinking ship. Perhaps they had come at first, but three weeks had passed now, their lives moved on while hers lay in limbo.

There was no physical reason why she did not wake. A physical reason could be healed.

'Clarice,' he addressed her as he had always done, with a hint of curiosity and veiled sensuality. 'I was not expecting to see you again so soon but it seems you have gone and got yourself into trouble again. I wonder if you realise how much?' He paused. 'No? Are you feeling shy Clarice? Then please let me explain.'

He reclined in the chair, his fingers steepled before him.

'The newspapers say your career is over, that your injuries will never allow you to perform active duties again... I don't envision you sitting behind a desk. You'll be pensioned off no doubt, or quit, the choice is yours, but your days with the FBI are over little starling. I think you know this don't you?' He tilted his head and regarded her, her breathing soft and regular, her face expressionless. 'Yes,' he said. 'You know. Your job is gone and your friends, judging by the less than welcoming decor of your room, have deserted you. You went a step too far on that raid didn't you Clarice, throwing caution to the wind. They blame you for crafting your own doom, but I know better. It is not your doom you are crafting Clarice... but your escape. It's time for a change Clarice, if you feel you can. If not you will continue to lie here until your choices are gone.' Dr Lecter leaned forward and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. 'What's it to be Clarice?'

He tutted. 'A drugs raid Clarice, and a relatively simple one at that. How unbecoming for you to have failed so utterly in the line of duty. The average trainee fresh from the academy could have handled that one and you yourself have handled so much more. Some might say that your lack of engagement with your role is symptomatic of something deeper and more sinister. You would protest I think, if you could,' he smiled, 'But you have chosen to be silent. Tell me Clarice, is it silent where you are now? I doubt it.' Lecter rose and bent across her body, placing his lips close to her ear and whispering. 'It's time to wake up from your dream, and when you do... I'll be waiting.'


	2. Chapter 2

2.

-- --

His colleagues parted like the Red Sea to allow him access. Mr Crawford nodded his acknowledgement and carefully stepped across the police line. He was dimly aware of a small gathering of nurses along the corridor, a junior sister in their midst being served hot therapeutic tea after her discovery.

The body was still seated in its chair outside Starling's room, a pool of congealing blood at its feet and a flask of coffee still clutched in one hand. The officer's assailant had slit his throat while he slept in one deft movement and there had been no time to react.

Manoeuvring around the body Crawford winced. The officer's eyes were missing, not gouged but carefully removed so that the tail of the optic nerve could be seen dangling from the orbits.

'Lecter,' he hissed.

It had to be him, he had a connection to Clarice and no-one else had the balls to walk carefree along a hospital corridor murdering armed police officers and precisely removing organs with apparently no fear of being caught.

'He probably ate them, sautéed them or something,' the junior officer by his side quipped. Crawford shot him and angry glance.

'What about Starling?' he asked, 'She ok?'

'Evidence suggests he was in her room, sir' the junior conceded, 'He left some stuff in there.'

'What kind of stuff?'

'Candlesticks, a flower, and a drawing.'

It sounded too much like his style.

'A drawing of?'

'Some classical thing, naked lady draped over a bed, looked a bit like Special Agent Starling actually. He left a poem too. Guess he must have been there a while to draw something so detailed, I mean man you could see _everything_...'

'Did he hurt her?' Crawford snapped.

'Well no, he just kind of... tidied up her room.' The junior was bemused. 'He didn't touch her.'

Crawford frowned, his eyes falling on the empty sockets of his dead colleague. 'What's he playing at? She's as vulnerable as she has ever been and he kills her guard rather than her and decorates her damn room. '

'Mr Crawford?'

'What?' the junior was really irritating him now.

'Agent Starling is awake, sir.'

-- --

"_For he hears the lamb's innocent call.  
And he hears the ewe's tender reply.  
He is watchful while they are in peace.  
For they know when their Shepherd is nigh."_

_Blake of course, but I think it is fitting, Clarice._

_H._

She rested the paper on her lap and read over the words again, glancing at the drawing he had made beneath it, an altogether too flattering depiction of herself in repose; it was tasteful and she found herself wondering if he had drawn it from life, his eyes moving over her while she slept just as his hand moved over the paper sculpting her shape. No, he would never take advantage of her in that way, it was unbecoming to him. He had drawn from imagination, depicting her like a goddess.

She read the poem again. The handwriting was familiar and elegant, his stylish calligraphy instantly recognisable and she felt her mind struggling to wake in order to make sense of the quotation. It had meaning, everything Lecter said did, and she did not mistake his reference to 'lambs,' for starters.

Around her a nurse buzzed busily while her attending doctor flicked through the charts and observations at the base of her bed. Beyond him she could see the candelabra Lecter had left and a single fresh picked lotus flower, its petals tinged with pink and moist with dew. Lotus flowers... they rang a distant bell.

'Special Agent Starling,' the doctor addressed her snapping her from her reverie. 'I'm very glad to be able to speak to you at last, you have made a remarkable recovery but even so we were quite astonished to find you awake this morning.'

'When can I leave?' she asked pointedly.

'Clarice, you've been here for three weeks, you've suffered some serious injuries and only just regained consciousness. While it's doubtless that you're doing well I...'

'When can I leave?'

'I would advise you to remain here, for your own well being...'

Clarice cut him off with a glare. 'My own wellbeing? Hannibal Lecter was in my room last night. He killed the guy who was supposed to be watching me...' there was a click and Crawford let himself into her room, pushing the door to behind him. Clarice glanced up and then continued, her voice struggling to restrain her anger and hoarse from lack of use. 'He killed the guy who was supposed to be guarding my room, he removed his _eyes..._ and you're trying to convince me to stay for my own wellbeing?'

Even as Clarice protested at her colleagues' ineffectiveness in her protection something in her told her that Lecter would never hurt her, he would consider it rude. She just wanted out of there, something was brewing. He had killed and the place would be crawling with cops, he wouldn't be visiting here again, but she felt sure he was out there, waiting. The idea was exhilarating and she felt oddly more alive than she had since his departure six months before.

'Going home would be just as dangerous Clarice if not more so, he knows where you live, he's been there remember.'

'Well I'm not staying here.'

_Just let me out of here and let me find out what he wants._

'You aren't ready to leave the hospital Clarice, it would be against medical advice,' the doctor said levelly.

'I can discharge myself if I want to,' she replied, 'And I can discharge you too Mr Crawford, you can't stop me going home.'

'Clarice!'

'If he wants to find me he'll find me, no-one can stop him, you certainly didn't manage to last night.' She picked up Lecter's note and held it out to him.

''He is watchful while they are at peace',' she quoted. 'He's mocking you Mr Crawford. Why do you think he took the eyes, because you guys _weren't_ being watchful; because he _is_.'

Crawford looked down at the paper scanning the words.

'I'm going home, Mr Crawford, and I'll sign anything you need me to sign, but you can't stop me.'

'You know we'll have to search your house, give you a guard.'

Clarice laughed. 'Do whatever you need to do Mr Crawford.'

He eyed her carefully unable to judge if this change in her was due to her injuries or the shock of having Lecter find her in hospital. She seemed reckless, like she had come unhinged. Starling hadn't been the same since Hannibal Lecter had vanished. Her work had become sloppy, she took risks she would never have taken before. She was changed. Crawford bit his lip; the bastard had got to her. Now he had to figure out how best to keep her safe without pushing her over the edge entirely.

'If you insist on leaving...' he began.

'I do.'

'Then at least let us offer you protection.'

'Fine.'

Crawford glanced at the doctor who shook his head. The both sensed they weren't going to win this one.

'We'll need time to put things in place...'

With a swift movement Clarice disconnected the drips from her arms, pulling the cannulas from her veins so that the blood spilled over her hands. A nurse dived to her side to try and stem the flow but 

Clarice shrugged her away, disentangling herself from the monitors still attached to her body, their alarms sounding as they came away.

'I'm leaving today,' she said, 'I'm leaving now.'

-- --

Of course he had already paid a call to her apartment. On her arrival, chauffeur driven by a reluctant Crawford and two plain clothes cops, she found the place crawling with forensics who were diligently fingerprinting her furniture. He had, by any standard, been a considerate caller and there were no signs of forced entry. The place was spotless and tidy and once again he had left flowers which scented the stale air of the rooms shut up for weeks on end. It amused her to find that he had even stocked her fridge with a variety of fine food and wine. Upstairs she found her sheets had been changed and her bed things laid out for her. Another lotus flower on her folded nightdress and a carafe of water by the bed.

'You know what Mr Crawford, I'm tired, do these guys really have to do this, it's not like we don't know it was him.'

'Clarice this is a crime scene.'

'It's a crime to clean my house? Get me a few bits in to eat?'

'This isn't a joke, he's a very dangerous man,' Crawford said seriously. Clarice rolled her eyes, 'very dangerous' didn't really cover it. He caught her look and grew angry. What was she thinking? 'Clarice I'm not happy about this at all, we can arrange a safehouse for you, we just have to lift the phone.'

'This morning you were telling me it'd take so long to arrange I'd be as well staying in hospital. No Mr Crawford I'm staying here tonight.'

'Well Jack will stay with you in the house,' he gestured at the officer currently ensconced in her favourite arm chair, 'and there will be two officers on the door, more surveying the street.'

Jack waved from her chair, 'Hey Agent Starling.'

'He's not staying in the house.'

'Clarice...'

'He's not staying in the house. If they want to stand outside they can but I don't think Lecter is going to teleport into my living room and take me by surprise. He might be good, but he's not _that_ good. He still has to open doors to get in; he still has to get past whoever you stick outside the building.'

'This isn't the time to be stubborn Clarice,'

'It never used to bother you.'

Finally they went and she locked the doors behind them, pulling the curtains and reclaiming her privacy and her armchair. Curling in it painfully she withdrew Lecter's note from her purse and read it again, a wave of fatigue and emotion washing over her.

Clarice closed her eyes and let the realisation fall over her without protest. In the last six months his voice had been a constant presence in her head, the lambs a constant presence in her dreams. There had been no respite from either and the events of her everyday life had lost their importance. Her job no longer held satisfaction for her, she isolated herself from those around her and drifted into a darker place altogether. A decade before she had allowed him into her mind, believing she was strong enough to deal with the consequences. But he had slowly taken root there. Gradually, day by day, his hold on her had grown stronger and when she realised it, it was too late.

'_Would you ever say to me Clarice, 'Stop, if you loved me you'd stop?''_

She had been unable to stop him when he escaped from the lake house, paralysed by the single kiss he had planted on her lips, paralysed by the realisation that she could never take his freedom or change his ways. She had sensed then that it was all over that if he had only asked she would have gone with him. But he would never ask; he would never put her in that position. Ever the gentleman he would wait for her to come to her own conclusions, however painful, however long it took.

As she waited, the light fading from outside and the glow of candles filling the room, she knew that what would follow had been almost inevitable from the start of their relationship. He had probably planned it, teasing her over the years which had passed, going about his business safe in the knowledge that one day she would give in.

_They know their Shepherd is nigh..._

Yes, he probably was.

She _hoped_ he was.

The hours ticked by.


	3. Chapter 3

3

-- --

Clarice stirred stiffly against the fabric of her chair, the pain from her injuries and the cramped position burning. A soft moan and she rubbed her hands across her eyes, trying to uncoil her legs from beneath her without antagonising the aching bullet wounds.

'What time is it?' she muttered, she must have missed her meds and without them the reality of her damaged body hit home.

'It's time to leave, Clarice.'

His voice came from the darkness. Only one candle remained burning, flickering desperately in a bid to cling onto life. Clarice raised her eyes to find him standing over her, a glass and her pills in his hand. She felt no surprise.

'Take these, they'll help with the pain,' he said even as she reached out for them. 'It's a shame you didn't sleep in the bed Clarice, it would have eased your pain better than an armchair.'

'How did you get in?' she asked.

'Oh Clarice, you always were so 'doctrinaire' in your need for such details, don't spoil the mystery now,' he teased.

'How many did you kill?' she swallowed the first tablet and heard his breath stop momentarily before he replied.

'Numbers mean little Clarice, I don't usually count.'

She swallowed the second and looked up at him. 'How many?'

'Six,' he said shortly.

Clarice handed the glass back to him and he placed it on the nearby table. Smoothly he glided into a crouch by her side and in a gesture which was unusual for Lecter, looked up into her face. It was the first time she had seen him clearly since his vanishing in the summer and although it was dark she recognised the light of his eyes. It seemed to her at that moment the most familiar and acceptable thing in the room; he always brought home to her the extent of her loneliness simply by revealing the strength of their connection in each brief encounter. Carefully his hand closed over hers.

'I daresay Clarice,' he said playfully, 'that even _your_ less than able colleagues might manage to notice that half their department is missing at some point in the next hour. It would be best if we were to get going while we can. I assume you have no reservations about joining me?'

'No.'

She caught the light on his teeth as he smiled, the flicker of his tongue on his lips.

'Good,' he said softly. And rising he gently held her by the arms, 'Allow me to help you,' he said, 'We don't want you doing even more damage to yourself than you already have.' She pulled herself 

slowly upwards until she was level with him, steadied by his hands, and he held her there for a moment with his gaze, searching her. Starling refused to turn away from his scrutiny; impassively she waited until he had had enough.

_Let him see._

'Good,' he said again, satisfied. 'Your things are packed, such that you will need. I took the liberty of leaving your gun where it is in the closet. I hope that won't be a problem?'

'I won't be needing it.'

'Indeed,' he agreed. Lecter took a sharp breath and let go of her arms, glancing round the room quickly he turned back to her with a bright and somewhat menacing smile, 'Okie dokie,' he said lightly, 'Let's make a start.'

-- --

The journey was long and Clarice felt as though she had not slept in peace for months. Sedated by her painkiller she allowed her eyes to close and the sound of the road beneath their wheels to lull her into unconsciousness once again.

As she slept he watched her, alternating her peaceful face with the dark road ahead of them. Her perfume filled the car and he felt himself relax into the drive. He prided himself on reading the motives and actions of others, part of the reason he took to Clarice was her initial unpredictability, the vulnerability she had bravely showed to him in Memphis years ago. She interested him, a challenge to his intellect and heart in ways other people failed to be. Now finally his little Starling had grown up, disillusioned with the world she lived in; she woke only when he offered the alternative and she took it easily.

_He woke her then and trembling and obedient she ate that burning heart out of his hand..._

It was no coincidence that her coma had lifted that night. He had hoped it would be so, made a tentative prediction to its happening and was satisfied with the outcome. It was no true surprise and it pleased him.

Lecter's lips curled into a soft and bittersweet smile; there were other surprises. Allowing his eyes to drift back to her, he felt the accompanying flutter in his guts and hesitating only for a moment, welcomed the emotion. Yes, she could still surprise him, even now.

-- --

Warm breath on her cheek, a light touch in her hair.

'Welcome back, Clarice, we've arrived.'

She struggled to open her eyes in the gloom of the car and found him beside her, waking her gently.

'I'm sorry to disturb you, but I can hardly leave you sleeping in the vehicle,' he said. In a dream she watched as he moved from the driver's seat and circled to open her door, reaching for him she eased herself out with a whimper of pain. Perhaps Crawford and her doctor had been right; it was 

too soon to leave hospital. Gathering herself and looking up Clarice saw something pass over Lecter's face, concern? Surely not, even if he felt it he would not be the type to allow it to be displayed. He took her arm and guided her towards the house while she forced herself to take in her surroundings.

They had obviously travelled for many miles and dawn threatened to break on the horizon revealing a wide expanse of lush countryside for acres around. The road they had followed was no more than a dirt track in woodlands, the path before them twisting from it to the porch of an isolated building.

_Alone in the woods with Hannibal Lecter, sure this is a good idea?_

The house itself was elegant; she expected no less, its high windows gazing out across the trees and revealing nothing of their dark interior. Slowly they made their way up the path, Lecter placing one hand gently on the small of her back while the other supported her arm. The crunch of the ground beneath their feet was supplemented with the waking calls of birds in branches and in the distance she thought she could hear water. He withdrew a key and opened the door, guiding her inside.

After depositing her on a comfortable couch he disappeared into the depths of the house and silence descended. Up until this moment she had moved trance like at his command, convinced of the inevitability of her coming here; now the surrealism of her situation dawned on her.

Three weeks ago she had been shot in the line of duty and almost died from the blood loss. Twenty four hours ago she lay unconscious in a hospital bed. Now she waiting in darkness in an unfamiliar setting for a man who had tortured and killed dozens to reappear and tell her what lay ahead. A battery of images flitted through her mind. The nurse Lecter had attacked in Baltimore, Pazzi dangling by his neck from a window with his bowels splattered on the stone beneath, the crippled Mason Verger, his face hideously disfigured from Lecter's attack.

_Why don't you try peeling off your face, Mason?_

And Mason had complied, eager to please his guest. All of this he was capable of and more and yet she waited, the barest hint of adrenaline in her anticipation of him and no more.

_I've obviously completely lost it._

A soft light cast over the room as Lecter returned and for the first time she saw her surroundings. Decorated to his usual high standards in rich velvets and drapes, red and gold and dark burgundy. She noted the piano in the corner of the room, its black surface gleaming, musical script propped neatly on the lectern. He had been here long enough to make his mark but there was still some evidence of the previous owner, trophies and fishing tackle displayed in glass cases. This must have been someone's vacation home.

Coming behind her Lecter bent and removed her scarf with delicate movements, untwirling it from around her neck and then moving her gently to slip her jacket from her arms. She shivered involuntarily when he made contact with her skin and she knew he saw it. Hanging the garments on a hook behind the door and then moving to the fireplace, he swiftly ignited the logs there until it was not long before the room filled with the crackle of flame. Clarice observed these curiously domestic actions from her seat as he dipped out of the room and returned with coffee. At last, his tasks 

complete, he joined her by the fire and handed her a steaming cup. Starling took her coffee black, black and strong to keep her going through the waking hours of her job. When she tasted this brew it was sweet and creamy, like the drinks she made herself before bedtime in the privacy of her home.

_He knows everything._

Her fingers slipped around the china and she allowed the heat to penetrate them, distracting her from the ache in her side and the vagaries of her thoughts.

'You're paying the price for your determination to leave, Clarice,' he said, 'I hope you will rest now and allow those wounds to heal properly.'

She didn't anticipate leaving any time soon.

Lecter took a sip of his own drink and then leant over the back of the couch to place the cup to one side.

'Where are we?' she asked.

'Once again you demand details Clarice,' he sighed, his fingers supporting one temple as he settled into the seat. She watched as he stretched in languorous movements the muscles stiff from driving.

'I'm curious, this isn't feeling very real at the moment.'

He smiled, 'No I suppose it is a bit of a shock to find yourself here, but then again, you don't _appear_ too surprised.'

_No, I kind of wish I was though, this is all a bit too easy._

'No, I suppose I'm not,' she conceded and sipped again at the drink. It occurred to her too late that he might have slipped something into it, and then she brushed away the suspicion, it was not his style to be so underhand with her. If he wanted to drug her he would have done it with a syringe.

'This house used to belong to an old acquaintance of mine, a patient if you must know.'

'Is he dead?' she asked.

Lecter paused just long enough for her to find it disconcerting. 'What do you think Clarice?' She looked away from him and into the fire; there was something disturbing about his expression which went beyond the mere knowledge he had killed another of his clients.

'Who was he?'

'Just some business I didn't get the chance to take care of before my incarceration. A most unpleasant but thankfully rich man,' Lecter said, 'I don't feel you need more detail than that, Agent Starling.'

His use of her official title reminded her that she was not here on business. It was not her job now to investigate whatever he might have done to the deed holder of this property.

'Been here long?' she asked, her tone sounded alarmingly to her like that she used to chat up potential boyfriends.

_Why don't you just ask if he comes here often for God's sake?_

He caught the tone and she cringed inwardly. 'A while,' he conceded kindly choosing not to refer to her stumble.

'Three weeks?' she asked.

'Very sharp Clarice.' She redeemed herself in his eyes with that and in reward he confirmed that he had been indeed waiting for and planning this moment.

'Saw me on the news?'

'Yes.'

At once this information made Clarice feel both flattered and shamed. Flattered he took such an interest, ashamed he should have witnessed her clumsy fall from grace. She dropped her eyes to the contents of her cup and chewed at her lip.

'The circumstances of your fall do not concern me, Clarice, 'he read her thoughts, 'Merely that you fell.'

She nodded slightly. 2-1 to Lecter in this game of wits and confessions.

He leaned forward and removed the empty cup from her hands placing it by his own. Her fingers tingled as his closed over hers in a gesture of unusual reassurance.

'We have plenty of opportunity to discuss all this later, Clarice,' he said quietly, 'But one thing at a time. You have had quite the day and you should sleep... so should I,' he added softly.

She looked up at him quickly in confusion and he smiled.

'Yes I do sleep Clarice, and eat and drink and perform every other very human action,' he teased.

'An officer once asked me once if you were 'some sort of vampire,'' Clarice said, surprised to find amusement in her voice.

He chuckled, a sound free from his usual sarcasm and rich in tone. 'I can assure you I am not. Did he feel that you alone would have privy to such a revelation if I were?'

In his close proximity she allowed herself to scrutinise his features, the lines around his eyes revealed the potential both for severity and for laughter and when the smile travelled upward from his lips those eyes sparkled. But he did look tired. She's never seen him look _tired_ before. He would feign weariness if bored with a topic, or sleep if aiming to trick a prison psychologist into going away without the information he sought, but she'd never seen him tired. She thought back over the last two days, he'd been in her hospital room, murdered her guard, returned to her house and apparently spring cleaned it and then driven her through the night to this refuge. Clarice had been asleep for a large portion of that time, he she supposed had not.

'Dr Hannibal Lecter is human,' she said thoughtfully, considering the idea.

'Some of him is,' and he winked.

Laughter escaped briefly from her before she winced and clutched at her side. His face changed and he moved to help her up. 'Bed,' he said. 'Your room is opposite to mine, call if you need anything.'

She remembered his uncanny sensory abilities and knew that even through the heavy doors he would hear her. After mustering the stairs he introduced her to her chambers.

'I trust you will find everything you need,' he said turning down the covers for her while she perched on the side of the bed. 'Your bathroom is through that door, I took the liberty of getting you a few things. Three weeks of roughly administered bed bathes will no doubt have left you longing for something more luxurious.'

He stopped, standing before her and allowed one hand to cup her face. Unconsciously she closed her eyes as his thumb grazed over her cheekbone and he bent, placing a single platonic kiss upon her forehead.

'Sleep well,' he said. 'Try not to dream.'

-- --


	4. Chapter 4

4

Clarice slept until late afternoon when the red rays of the setting winter sun woke her from her siesta. It seemed she was destined so far to only encounter Lecter by night. She groaned in transient pain and rolled to one side, pushing her body up with her arms. Her eyes alighted on her medicine, placed thoughtfully within reach of her bed. She swallowed and considering lying still until the pain eased but the temptation to return downstairs was overwhelming and she pulled herself upright ignoring the warning twinges in her side.

He had laid a dress over the end of her bed. It was classically stylish and black but less revealing than the Gucci he had bought for her last summer.

'Dressing for dinner, huh?' she muttered, 'Very 'Hannibal.'' His Christian name felt naked without its partner 'Lecter.' And she said it again more slowly, 'Hannibal'; it sounded curiously soft.

-- --

The music filled the room just enough, not overbearing but nor was it too quiet to appreciate. He closed his eyes and allowed the notes to twinkle colourfully in his mind, a pleasing mixture of pale blue and sunlight yellow. The scent of the wine in his glass drifted up to him and he allowed his senses to drink it in, the beginning, he supposed, of an evening filled with senses.

'Clarice, you timing as always is impeccable,' he said over his shoulder.

She jumped a little in the doorway where she had not been able to help but watch him.

'You are wearing the skin cream,' he remarked, 'I hope you like it, I doubt you had a change to appreciate it last time.'

'Not really, no,' she admitted, 'They took it away from me.'

'Pity,' he turned, 'I believe a lady should have some indulgences in her life.' His eyes fell to her dress which clung to her slim frame, covering the marks of trauma he had seen across her belly in the hospital . 'You are a little thin, Clarice,' he observed, 'The hospital food does not suit you.'

'I'm anticipating you've prepared something better for us tonight?'

'Of course, it will be ready shortly, it is a little early to be a civilised hour but I suspect you will be too hungry to wait until eight...please... take a seat,' and he bent to pull one from the heavy set dining table. She sat gratefully while he poured her a little wine studying her curiously. 'You are not curious Clarice as to what it is I have prepared?'

_Or whom._

'Should I be?'

_You mustn't ask Clarice, it spoils the surprise. _His words floated back to her.

'Very well,' he said softly. 'A surprise it is.'

He excused himself and drifted back to the kitchen. When he was out of sight Clarice dragged her eyes from where they had been following him and looked around. Outside the sun was falling quickly, bathing the trees with crimson highlights.

If he put Jack Crawford on a plate before her would she care? It was easy to let him do what he wished while out of her sight, his current persona was almost charming enough to allow her to forget. It was a path of least resistance which she longed to embrace but her mind challenged her to challenge herself. A long bath and a comfortable bed had done much to relax her, not to mention the curiously reassuring presence of Lecter himself. Surely though she could not justify this feeling of contentment; not at least while he was in the kitchen preparing what may turn out to be one of his more 'legendary' meals. The image of Paul Krendler's culinary lobotomy whistled through her mind. The sound he made as his jaw dropped drooling, Lecter dissecting away the meninges, the frontal lobe, carefully frying the brain in garlic.

_This area is thought to be the seat of good manners, I doubt Paul will miss it much._

Was he doing something similar now? To the former patient who owned the house? Her mouth became dry and her relaxation lifted replaced with the first signs of tension.

_You had to think about it didn't you?_

'Why am I here?' she said aloud. She glanced back cautiously towards the kitchen, sure he had heard her.

_Maybe he has drugged me. This is all too easy. It's just falling into place and I don't want to fight it. That's not me. Is it?_

She couldn't answer. The damn music was distracting her, she had heard it before, in Lecter's make shift cell in Memphis. The same gentle piano music which had accompanied her as she'd walked to their last interview; the music he no doubt played later while murdering the officers who stood guard over him, while dissecting Pembury's face to wear as a mask to his escape. He had chosen it deliberately for this meal no doubt, to make her remember. But why would he want that, why would he want her to remember the atrocities of that night?

She thought of the cell, bare in the centre of a great hall, the music filling it to its high ceiling. Lecter in white, his sketches across his desk and the bars separating her from him. They discussed Jame Gumb, they discussed death and the hideous psychological profile of a killer. Outside of the Baltimore prison cell she had seen him in before he portrayed himself in a subtly different manner. Take away the bars of his cell and the spectacular room he was kept in was more befitting to his character. Give him the luxuries of music and art and he revealed a little more of himself.

She had responded in kind.

She had told him of her childhood and her fears, of the screaming lambs that woke her nightly as she searched for Catherine Martin. She had cried and in the final moments of their conversation she had seen a single tear form in his eyes in response.

She had often thought of it, the tear and the brief touch they shared as he handed her her casefile through the bars. She had tried to discover for herself what it meant. Did he feel for her, did he 

sympathise, was he merely sickly triumphant at his discovery of her vulnerability? She didn't think so, she believed that something had passed between them, connecting them all too briefly and changing her forever.

She looked down at her wine and then back at the kitchen, all the while the music elaborating her memories.

It was not the violence of that night he wished her to remember, but that moment.

-- --

She could hear him humming as he cleared the dinner things from the table. The occasional ring of crystal as he rinsed glasses. The surrealism of the situation was not getting any less. Dinner had been uneventful and uncannibalistic as far as she could tell, but then she didn't have much experience in the area. Clarice wandered closer to the fire and felt its heat on her legs. She was fuzzy with wine and food and her body was relaxed. He had of course been the perfect gentleman, pouring her wine, toasting her health, and every now and then through the glow of the candlelight between them she had seen him smile at her with a warmth that was unfamiliar to his face. She had been shocked by her reaction, the deep seated burn that washed through her as his hand closed over hers on the table.

Without thinking she dropped to her knees by the fire and gazed into it. Just as she had as a child on her uncle's farm. Loosing herself in the flame while the heat of it eased her muscles. Everything about the room was comforting and she felt her eyes close as the warmth fire caused her cheeks to tingle and burn.

He was standing over her, a glass of port in his hand. He looked amused.

'Comfortable down there Clarice? You'll spoil your dress,' he teased. She made to move, like a scolded child but he gestured for her to remain, handing her the glass and with an elegant movement joining her at the hearth. He rested one arm over a propped knee and regarded her as she sipped, the dark liquid staining her bare lips.

Uncomfortable in the intensity of his gaze she said 'Thank you for dinner, it was lovely.' But she had not fooled him; he knew only too well why she felt compelled to speak.

'You must learn to relax Clarice, leave your academy training behind and simply enjoy,' he winked at her again and she blushed, immediately berating herself for such a response on her behalf. She shifted uncomfortably and he pursed his lips in amusement.

'You're enjoying this aren't you?' she said accusingly.

'Well of course, I have long desired to enjoy your company.'

_I think it would be quite something to know you in private life..._

'That's not what I mean and you know it.'

'Ah, a flash of the Old Clarice,' he said biting his tongue between white teeth in his amusement. He saw her expression and relented. 'Let me assure you Clarice that I am not here to humiliate or to tease, unless that is you want me to...'

The innuendo was painfully sharp and she blushed again trying to rein in her feelings. A mixture of irritation and wanton desire ran through her.

'I'm sorry Clarice, that was uncalled for, please forgive me. Know that I mean you no harm... in any way. You have been free to leave from the moment you got here; the choices have always been yours.'

'They don't feel like mine at the moment...' she said but on reflection what he had said was true. She didn't think he would have stopped her if she'd taken his car and driven home. He had gone out of his way to make her comfortable and somehow she didn't think it was his style to drag on a game this long. If he wanted her dead, she would be dead. If he wanted to damage her he had had ample opportunity.

'What now?' she said.

He raised his eyebrows. 'Now?'

'Well you probably have a plan.'

'Not anymore,' he replied simply, 'My 'plan' as you so coarsely describe it was merely aid you in your liberation from the FBI and your rather dreary lifestyle and I have done that.'

She bridled at the words.

'Come come Clarice would you deny it, life has hardly been fulfilling for you of late. I daresay,' his tone changed, 'It has been somewhat lonely.'

'Yes,' the word was out before she had meant to form it.

'Yes,' he said sadly. 'I fear that at least some of that is my doing.'

'Dr Lecter you were missing for ten years I don't think you can claim to have influenced my choices in that time.'

'Can't I?' he held her eye and she looked away. 'Clarice you have never been far from my thoughts, I feel I may be right to assume that I was never far from yours.'

'That's very arrogant of you Dr,' she tried.

'Arrogant, maybe,' he conceded, '_Accurate,_ yes.'

She felt herself suddenly tiring under his analysis and rubbed distractedly at her left shoulder. The atmosphere changed subtly from the defensive clash of wits to one of sensuality. He followed her hand and without a word moved so that he was behind her, gently lifting her hair to one side. Clarice held her breath trying to ascertain if she felt fear or longing, if she anticipated pain or...

He dropped his lips to her shoulder and let fall a gentle kiss. Then with his hands he softly began to ease the muscles there, stroking down the length of her arm in gradually elongated movements. Finally he took her hand and wrapped it across her body, shifting himself so that he encircled her. Imperceptively Clarice moved backwards against him, savouring the warmth of his body accentuated by the heat of the fire. He waited and at last she relaxed into him, closing her eyes and breathing the scent of his cologne and the unique scent beneath of his skin. She felt his lips again at her neck.

She waited for his next move but it did not come, restricting himself to holding her and caressing her shoulder, the nuzzle of his mouth against her skin. With her body she tentatively suggested he move further but he ignored the direction of her hints. Minutes passed and still he had made no effort to pursue the situation.

In her mind Clarice waxed and waned, her body and heart telling her one thing, her critical intellect another. The turmoil went on and he seemed aware, keen that if she came to him it would not be on the spur of a moment but because it was desired by every element of her. She let her free hand slip to his thigh just above the knee and felt the muscles there beneath the soft fabric of his dinner suit, but when she attempted to explore further he merely replaced her hand gently to a more platonic spot.

'All good things to those who wait,' he said quietly, continuing his slow assault. A few more minutes and he pulled away, a final kiss on the tender nape of her neck, and replaced her hair carefully over her shoulders. Clarice was left on her knees by the fire, the burn of his mouth on her skin, and her thoughts whirling in confusion. He did not touch her again that night.


	5. Chapter 5

5

Daylight. The pale morning sun of winter peering through a gap in her ornate curtains. Clarice looked at it and waited for reality to kick in. On retiring alone to her bed she had promised herself that all would be clear in the morning, a good night's sleep was all she needed to replenish her rationality.

She waited still drifting in and out of a doze, last night's memories gliding across her consciousness as his lips has glided along her collar bone. Rationality was apparently still on leave.

Clarice slid from the bed and padded to her closet. Lecter had filled it with things and she appraised their colours and style. More sophisticated than she was used to but exactly to her taste. She noted several pairs of shoes and matching bags and smirked. He always did criticise her shoes and now he was making sure they were up to his exacting standards. Choosing the most casual of the available items she dressed and made her way downstairs.

Hannibal regarded her lazily over the top of his book as she entered. He wore small half moon glasses she had never seen on him before.

'Good morning, Clarice, I trust you slept well?'

'No nightmares,' she replied.

'But perhaps not as fitfully as you might have liked, a little disturbed...'

She looked at him levelly in an attempt to remain cool. Lecter closed his book softly, one finger keeping place and rested it on his lap. He was stretched out along the length of the couch, dressed comfortably in pale linen. Clarice caught herself as her eyes travelled down his body and returned them firmly to his face.

'I slept fine,' she said.

He raised a hand in acquiescence. 'Of course,' he said politely.

'Got any plans for the day?' she attempted casually.

'No plans,' he said meaningfully laying aside his volume. He rose smoothly and crossed in stockinged feet to where she stood. 'Breakfast?'

'You seem determined to feed me up.'

'Food has always been a pleasure to me,' he replied moving through to the kitchen. She followed at a distance into the unfamiliar room. It was immaculate, the previous night's dinner things cleaned and cleared. 'I like to share my pleasures,' he finished.

Clarice wished she could interpret that innocently but was sure he was aware of the subtext.

'It's a beautiful day Clarice, I believe it might snow.' He was by the window surveying the weather, clear and bright with the crisp edge of impending flakes in the air. It was a bizarrely normal comment in a bizarrely odd situation.

'We should go for a walk,' she said hesitantly.

He turned, assessing her. 'Are you strong enough? Or are you merely intending to determine where we are, plot an escape?' He placed a coffee pot on the table near her.

'Escape to what?' she said, the words surprising her.

'Quite.' He was pleased with her response.

'No I think... I think I'll just stay here. That is if you'll have me,' she added aware of Lecter's penchant for politeness.

'That would be delightful, Clarice, and if you feel the fresh air would be of benefit then I would be happy to accompany you today.'

She stirred her coffee.

-- --

'People often find it easier to talk while moving,' he said conversationally as they went, 'It is convention to walk side by side with a companion and this eliminates the need for eye contact.' She felt him turn to her, 'Some find it offputting.'

They had gone a little distance from the house but already it was almost obscured by trees. A winding and rough path lay before them and the sound of the water she had heard on her arrival was growing louder. There had to be a stream nearby. By her side, inches away but refraining from touching her, Lecter walked smoothly, a banded hat and sunglasses obscuring much of his face and casting it into shadow.

'I've never had a problem with eye contact Dr.'

_Why is it, _Mason Verger's mangled features had asked from his bed, _that you can look at my face but you shy from the name of God?_

'No,' Lecter agreed. 'Even so I believe it is time you began to express yourself. You are rested and your wounds are healing... I checked them myself,' he confessed. Clarice subdued her response, the thought of his eyes and hands running over her body, examining her.

'What do you want Dr?' she asked.

'Me? Oh very little Clarice, very little. The question is more what do _you_ want.'

'Knew that was coming.'

'Very good Clarice you're catching up.' It irritated her that she was happy to have pleased him. 'Mind the step.'

They had reached the banks of the stream, larger than she had imagined it to be, and three make shift steps had been carved into the drop to the water. An electric shock ran up her arm as he took it and helped her down. The air was cool but there was no breeze to chill them and he had wrapped her warmly before they left the house.

'Did you ever skim stones as a child, Clarice?'

She glanced up at him, 'Huh?'

'How inarticulate of you,' he mocked, 'Stones... across the water.'

'A few times,' she replied evidently confused.

'I did too.'

Clarice hesitated as an image of Lecter as a child crossed her mind. She supposed he had to have had a childhood, she just hadn't considered it before believing instead that he had been born a fully formed monster in adult shape. He sensed her confusion and chuckled, casting a stone expertly across the surface of the stream where it bounced once, twice, three times and vanished.

They were standing on pebbles and close to the water several larger boulders stood above the level of the ground. He moved to these now removing his coat and draping it over one, seating himself on the other. 'You shouldn't be standing too long Clarice.'

'Won't you get cold?' she asked before she had realised.

He looked at her in bemusement and made a small tutting noise, 'Such concern,' he said. She ignored him and sat down. 'I am used to the cold, Clarice.'

'Didn't they have heating in gaol?'

'When they chose to use it yes. It was one of Dr Chilton's petty tortures to turn off... but I was not referring to Baltimore, bitter as it can be in January.'

'Are you...' she paused searching for the words, 'Are you having a two way conversation with me Dr?'

'Don't I always?'

'Usually only under duress.'

That laugh again. She amused him, but not in such a way that he was amused by her faults, there was no malice in his tone.

'Do you feel we are under duress now Clarice? Is this merely another game of _quid pro quo_?'

'No,' she admitted. Her guard was dropping, she couldn't help it. The longer she was in his company the harder it was to convince herself to remember his reputation. He was eroding her with kindness and his unique brand of charm, and as much as it irked her she was ashamed to say she rather enjoyed it. It had been many years since anyone had taken the time to speak to her this way.

'Clarice I believe we are getting to know each other,' he said, 'Outside of work.'

'Is that what you consider what you do? Work?'

He turned and she caught the shadow of his eyes beneath his dark lenses. 'Not quite,' he said, 'But each of us has different personas Clarice. You are different now from how you are when you are at home, different there from how you are when firing bullets at drug dealers... no?'

'Yes, but I'm still fundamentally the same person.'

'Are you? I think you delude yourself Clarice. I think you joined the FBI to get away from the person you were. But it's not so easy to escape is it?'

'Where was it cold?' she said deflecting his question. He had struck a nerve and she was not yet ready to deal with it. It registered with him but instead of pressing on her weak spots as she had expected he merely replied.

'Lithuania.'

'Lithuania?'

'It's where I was born Clarice. And before you asked yes we had heating there too... but not during the war, there was a distinct lack of warmth then.'

Was she really hearing this? Was Lecter revealing things about his life? She looked at him wondering if he was deceiving her, trick her into complacency.

'I don't lie Clarice, you know how I feel about lies, I would rather say nothing than stoop so low.'

'You lied about the people you killed.'

'Have you read the casefiles?'

'Yes,' she had, all of them, for hours.

'Then you know I admitted to them immediately.'

'But you hid them for years.'

'I said nothing for years that is true, but Clarice...No-one ever asked.'

She almost laughed in disbelief. 'No-one ever asked?'

'It's not a question people pose in polite company, Clarice.'

Well polite company _was _where he spent most of his time. She almost had a fit of the giggles then and there. Hannibal Lecter, world renowned killer lay undiscovered for years because nobody asked. She caught his smile and tried to hide her own.

'It strikes you as amusing? Well that's a good sign.'

'Of what?'

'You always needed to get more fun out of life, and now I think you are... so am I right? Did you join the FBI to escape little Starling as she once was.'

Clarice sighed, the merriment draining out of her. 'Yes, I suppose I did.'

'And how did that work out for you?'

'OK at first, not so OK later.'

'That's succinct Clarice, would you care to expand?'

'Not really,' she bent awkwardly and lifted a pebble tossing it into the stream beside them.

'You throw like a girl,' he drawled.

'My dad always said that.'

'The FBI is over for you, you know that Clarice.'

'Yes.'

'So are you back to the beginning, are you that small town rube all over again?'

Clarice looked him in the eye. 'You tell me you seem to know the answer.'

'I do yes, but I need you to know it too.'

The realisation settled suddenly on her shoulders as she looked at him. Job gone, friends estranged, family dead, a husband and children that never were, lost to the disaster that was her career, and just last week her life had hung by a thread. She couldn't go back, there was nothing to go back to and she sensed that if she tried she would be haunted by him, this conversation and others, a feeling of eternal 'what if?'

'Dr Lecter?'

'Yes,' he was watching her intently, she was prey.

'I know.'

A beat, a watchful beat. She felt exhilarated, as though waiting for his answer or his permission. Somehow he held the key, he had held it for years idly, waiting until she asked for it back, keeping her at a distance until she could bear it no longer.

'It's not going to be easy, Clarice.'

'I know that too.'

'You are condemning yourself to an altogether different life if you stay.'

'Yes.'

'The opposite side of the law you worked so hard for, for so long.'

'I know _all_ of this Dr.'

He considered her. 'Maybe you do, maybe you will come to know yet.' He let out a small sigh and slowly removed his sunglasses folding them neatly into the pocket of his shirt. His eyes sparkled with the reflections of the stream and something else. She found she couldn't look at him, the emotions etched more clearly than before on his face; still subtle by any normal standard, but there, she was sure of it. She tried to resist the urge to reach out and touch his arm, tortured by the need to respond to him as any other human being but cautious in his presence. She focused instead on her hands, pale in the cold air, and listened to the ripple of the stream by their side.

She felt more than saw him move and looked up cautiously. He was standing by the edge of the water, head slightly bent so that the brim of his hat cast shade over his eyes. Both hands in his trouser pockets he watched his own shoe as dragged across the pebbles and then lazily kicked them away. Was he lost in thought or was he waiting still?

Clarice stood and took a step forward, the few paces between them taking a lifetime to cover. She swallowed and made the last few steps until she was standing before him, her back to the stream, the cool air from its water a breath against her legs. He met her eyes but remained expressionless until she gathered the courage and slipped her arms through his, one at a time, circling him. To her relief he responded, drawing his own arms up her body until they rested around her waist, pulling her gently to him. Her mouth felt dry and she slid her tongue over her lips anxiously uncertain of how to make the next move.

'Clarice,' he said softly, 'perhaps I can make this a little easier for you, after all,' he glanced at the boulder where she had been sitting. It was feet away though she could have sworn it had been at least a mile. 'You've done the hard part,' he finished. 'May I?'

For a second she wasn't sure what he was asking and then the realisation dawned like white heat in her belly, she felt her heart thud once against her chest in painful excitement and managed to nod.

'Is that a yes, Clarice?'

'Yes...' she managed.

His lips were on hers almost before she had spoken. Firm but surprisingly gentle, caressing her, teasing, his tongue slipping deftly into her mouth before finally permitting her to enter him in return. Clarice pulled him taut against her and felt his arms grip in response, his hands strong on her hips, the small of her back, between her shoulder blades, gliding along her body in a quest to bring her nearer. She felt herself grow breathless at his touch and a tremor began at her hips which seemed to run the length of her legs.

Lecter pulled away from her gently and smiled, touching her dishevelled hair and smoothing it back into place. Clarice blushed.

'I think you've been out in the cold long enough,' he said, and they turned back towards the house.


	6. Chapter 6

6

He kissed her lightly upon their return and moved to the kitchen where he removed his coat and brushed away the debris from the stream which clung to the back. Clarice lingered in the doorway, her heart still pounding from the feel of his lips. In a leisurely fashion Lecter hung his jacket and then looked at her inquisitively.

'Yes, Clarice?'

She felt confused; the intensity of their embrace by the stream had convinced her that more of the same awaited her at the house. Now he seemed more concerned with valeting his suit.

'Um... '

He smiled wickedly and took her in his arms, bending towards her he kissed her again and she released her urgency. He allowed her to kiss him back for a moment and then pulled away. 'In good time Clarice, I've waited over a decade for this moment I'm not about to rush it now.' She let out a small moan, sometimes his gentlemanly elegance was nothing less than frustrating. 'The anticipation is half the fun, Clarice,' he teased. 'Why don't you go on upstairs to your room and pamper yourself a little, pick yourself a nice dress, take a bath.'

He was really enjoying himself, she could see it. Of course he could be sadistic, it was his nature, but there was something playful about him now. With a sigh she conceded.

'OK, pampering, bath, dress...'

'Dinner...'

'Dinner too?'

'Dinner,' he winked good-naturedly. 'We have all night Clarice.'

-- --

The bath had been a good idea she conceded. She had forgotten in her distraction how painful her body still was. Clarice lay back and smoothed the water over her stomach, scrutinizing the bruising which still surrounded the healing wounds. They were going to leave telling scars on her pale skin. As she looked down she traced a line between three separate bullet wounds, picturing Lecter's hands doing the same. Would he care if she was marked, she doubted it, it would probably please him; a physical representation of the scars within which had drawn him to her. He liked 'damaged.' Damaged was interesting to him, the hows and whys, the lasting effects. Normal bored him; it insulted his intelligence. Would he ever grow bored of her?

_I've waited over a decade for this moment..._

No, if he wasn't bored by now she supposed he never would be.

Why was he delaying her? She would have given herself to him by the stream if he had asked but she suspected he was giving her the chance to do exactly what she was doing now. To think it through. Above all he had been insistent that she make the decisions; that she was free to leave, that he 

would not coerce her. Did it matter so much to him that she came willingly; to him a man who could break her in a second should he chose to? And the expression on his face by the stream, what was that she had seen? The pieces began to slide into their pattern and she felt warm. She sensed she was at the start of the vast exploration which would ultimately reveal him to her.

_They don't have a word for what he is..._

The challenge excited her. So be it, she would play his game his way. She felt sure she would win. The balance of power was shifting and fear ebbed away with the perfumed bathwater. He had strength, intelligence, control and a battery of talents and knowledge upon which to call. She, apparently, had his heart.

-- --

The sight of him stripped her confidence and she struggled to remember how she had felt in her room, preparing for him. He stood over the table lighting candles with a taper, dressed in an immaculate dinner suit and freshly shaved. She could smell the cologne from where she stood, a subtle and alluring fragrance that made her want to bury her face in his neck.

'You look beautiful, Clarice,' he said and she started, suddenly aware she had been staring at the soft place under his jaw where her lips would fit so well. He glided over to her and secured her mouth with his, allowing her to spend the edge of her desire. His skin grazed lightly over her and he flickered his tongue against her lips. She wriggled against him, flattening herself against the length of his body and she felt his mouth curl into a smile. Suddenly embarrassed she pulled back only to be caught by his hands. It was all so strange. This surge of feeling went against so many of her beliefs.

Kindly he led her to the table where he poured her wine and served the meal. As the evening passed she became more aware of his skills as a psychiatrist. From the embarrassed uncertainty which had rendered her almost mute, he won her round so subtly she failed to notice before she was laughing openly and trading easy conversation. Was it merely his intellect or was there a connection which left her feeling safe and valued in his company? Tired of her inner struggle she opted for the latter and her concerns mellowed. Instead she watched his mouth as he talked, his soft precise voice washing over her, amusing and touching her in turns.

She stood by the fire again while he cleared; this time there was no urge to kneel by the flames. Her eyes instead fell on the mirror above the mantelpiece and her own dark reflection. In the firelight her auburn hair glowed softly and her eyes took on a magical gleam against the pale shade of her skin. Self consciously she adjusted the strap of her dress, the neckline plunging to reveal vulnerable flesh. She moistened her lips and tried a smile but it did not fit the image. This was another Clarice entirely and the reflection's eyes burned into her own. If she did this there would be no going back.

He appeared in the mirror behind her silently and she caught his eye before returning her gaze to her own. She hunted in their blue depths for the protest she expected to find there, but found none. Behind her he tilted her head as he watched, sensing that the pivotal moment in their relationship had come, and surprised at the anxiety it caused him, unaccustomed as he was to the feeling.

Clarice turned to him, the bare skin of her shoulders glowed with the firelight behind her. He held out his hand, and at last she took it. Lecter closed his eyes and bending, kissed her fingers before leading her from the room.

-- --

In the hallway between their rooms Lecter stopped, glancing between the two doors, inviting her to choose. Taking his cue she grasped the handle to his room and turned it, pushing the door open to reveal what lay beyond. Behind her he smiled in relief and pleasure and followed her inside.

It was dark and rich. A dresser nearby glinted with items; cufflinks, cologne. Several books were placed to one side, a lacquered trinket box and an opulent embroidered drape across the stool. The bed was at the centre, heavy and oaken, clothed in burgundy trimmed with gold. Her eyes fell upon the flower upon the pillow.

'Lotus,' she said, 'you left one in my room.'

'Yes I did,' he admitted. 'You are aware of its significance I suspect?'

She smiled; yes, she had figured it out. 'Rebirth.'

'Indeed,' he caught her hands and drew her to him, 'The pink lotus was originally found in Persia although other species appeared in Egyptian and Oriental myth. It is the symbol of death and resurrection, and perhaps more importantly enlightenment, and healing.

'A new start Clarice. Are you ready for that?'

'Yes,' the last word she needed to say.

His kiss this time was laced with tenderness and as she closed her eyes she felt herself swim in his embrace. His hands at her back slipped across her bare flesh and under the thin straps of her dress, carefully sliding them down her arms, following their progress with his lips. In turn she moved to remove his jacket, the material whispering along his shirt sleeves as it dropped away. Her fingers undid his bowtie and flicked open the buttons of his collar. Lecter smiled and led her backwards to the bed, laying her down carefully, slipping her dress down her body as she unhooked his shirt and opened it. Her fingers traced down the hair she found there and reached for his belt.

'Patience,' he whispered. She allowed he hand to move up his body once more and laid back into the soft covers of the bed as he kissed her neck, the soft place above her collarbone, the tops of her breasts. She helped him to free her from her dress and moaned as his lips explored further. He removed his shirt and pressed the warmth of his body against her, his regular breathing quickening at the touch. Languidly Clarice opened her eyes and dropped her hand to his head, touching the back of his neck softly until he rose and met her eyes. This time he made no attempt to stop her as she unbuckled his belt and pull away his remaining clothes and she smiled her courage as she allowed her gaze to wander across his body.

His strength was obvious, but so were his scars, her fingers grazed them and she looked down at her own belly, still mottled with injury. Lecter dropped his mouth to her stomach, were the flesh was tender, but his touch was gentle, like a flicker of silk against her skin.

He was controlled and kind in his touch and the time slid by unseen. Clarice felt her relaxation flow through her body only to be followed by the tingling of excitement. She was aware of the change in him too. As her own body heated, his breath shortened, his skin burned where she touched. Encouraging him upwards she reclaimed his mouth with a passion she had long forgotten and felt his rejoining hardness against her thigh. She pressed against him and he moaned as she parted her legs, the scent of her reaching his nostrils. He withdrew his kiss and placed it against her neck, reaching down between them, his fingers slick and expert. Clarice arched into him, begging permission and he cupped her buttocks, moving her leg over his and placing himself above her.

Lecter looked down at her, his pupils dilated with desire and she stroked back the hair at his temples, feeling the lines smile around his eyes. She felt him then, the length of him slide into her body and she caught her breath, her eyes closing momentarily as he filled her. She wrapped her arms across his back and held him to her.

In a moment ten years melted to nothing and the pain of her life faded. Although dimly aware of an ache in her wounds he was gentle enough in his movements for her to push it to one side. Lecter balanced his weight against the bed and used a free hand to caress her, touching the sensitive skin of her breast and thigh, holding him to her. She bit down on her lip before a small cry escaped her, to be welcomed by a smile at her neck. He nipped her playfully, his teeth grazing her skin and capturing her lips but it only served to heighten her desire.

He was moving faster now, his breath more ragged and the intensity of his desire set her mind spinning. She was here, alone in the house, in the bed, with Dr Hannibal Lecter and yet there was no fear, no pain, only his need for her and her aching for him. The world might as well not exist; there was only the feel and scent of him, the taste of his mouth on hers.

The feeling built until she thought she would break and her nails dug firmly into his back urging him on. A low groan from Lecter and a deep and urgent thrust sent her body crashing towards her climax, arching under and into him, unable to stop the sound which came from her throat. Lecter followed, for a moment his weight on her fully as he lost control, the sound of his pleasure filling her ears even as he shuddered his ending. He kissed her throat and pulled back, quick to take the weight from her wounds, before moving to her side and wrapping himself around her, his breathing heavy and harsh.

His chin resting on her head, she traced her fingers through the curls on his chest.

'Dr Lecter?'

A heavy but not unhappy sigh against her cheek. 'Clarice I really think given what just happened that you should address me by my given name.'

She bit back a smile, 'Hannibal,' it's sounded strange on her tongue.

'You'll get used to it,' he said softly, his hand running across her hair, smoothing it from her face.

'Yes I'm sure I will.'

His breathing became more regular and aligned with her own. Clarice's eyes threatened to flutter shut and then in a moment caught sight of the flower. He must have moved it during their love making because it lay now on the drape which elegantly covered the stool. The Lotus' light petals contrasted darkly with the material and she smiled as if waking from a dream.

But the dream would continue tomorrow.


End file.
